Once he was finished, he lay back on her pillows, his hands behind his head. “Tell me, mountain woman, why are you so smart?”
“How do you mean?” Violet asked.
“You speak better, you are more refined. Even more refined than Miss Rose, the ghost.”
“She’s not a ghost.”
“No, I misspeak. She has a ghost inside her. She has suffered. You see her neck. There are many in my country with terrible scars, too.”
“Where are you from, Gold?” Violet was happy to skirt the subject of her own past.
“Georgia.”
Violet burst out laughing. “Well that explains your southern accent.”
Gold smiled. “Georgia, Russia.”
“You’re Russian?” She felt a little shiver, thinking of Mrs. Whitney. Was Gold a communist?
“I am a Jew. Jews are never from the country they are born in. They are Jews. But to America, yes, I am Russian. Georgia is a beautiful place, in the south, just like your Georgia is in the south, but for Russia, where it is miserable and cold, Georgia is the place of vacations, dachas for the rich aristocrats.”
“Were you a rich aristocrat in Georgia?”
“No. I was a Jew. But I was rich, yes. Like here, there my family had many clothing stores. No land, it was against the law for a Jew to own land, but stores, oh yes. But the revolution put an end to all that.”
Violet was quiet. The revolution that brought power to the workers put an end to the lifestyle of the rich, but drove the workers into grinding poverty as well. “So you came to the States?”
“Yes, as I told you, I have been here a very, very long time. I still have the thick accent, but I have in all other ways become an American. I am a citizen because I love this country. Even though I am very angry at the government some times.”
“We all are.”
“Yes, but when you are born here, you feel the right to be angry. When you immigrate, you feel that to be angry is to be ungrateful, and you are very, very grateful. And the government feels that an angry immigrant is a danger. They rounded up three thousand immigrants in January, all because they were angry at how the workers here were treated.”
“I know. I was furious. They accused them of being part of the CLP.”
“You know about that? You are a mysterious whore!”
Violet paused, knowing that she had to walk a very fine line. “I do know about it. I have had my share of problems, too. I used to, well, I was working to improve the minimum wage for women, because they make so little in a week that they can’t feed their children. And the people on the Commission say it’s because they’re working for pin money, when they’re not. So that’s how I know about this.”
Gold looked at her very intently. “I knew you were special. You are very deep for a whore. You know, I pay my workers fairly. I saw much suffering and have suffered here too, and I don’t want to see my workers in pain. It is hard, though, when the competitors make a better profit and can charge less for the clothes, because they don’t pay their workers. Me, I would rather get less profit. But not too much less profit, or I can’t afford my lovely mountain of a dolly!”
Violet smiled at him and rose to get dressed. “Oh, once more, my dolly!” Gold said. Violet lay back down. She would be sure to make a second mark on the Kate’s notepad when they went back down.
* * * *
Tuesday afternoon dawned clear and bright and a bit cooler than Monday had been, bringing relief to the overheated tempers at El Verano Resort. Violet rolled over in bed and listened to the clock chime noon. It had been a strange night with Rose’s spell, Caleb’s passion, Sharon’s snappish comments, and Kate’s disappearance for long periods of time from the salon.
She thought about Gold’s remarkable journey from Georgia, Russia, to Sonoma, California. What gumption it took to leave everything one knew, family, friends, wealth, and travel half way around the world to a country where you didn’t speak the language, were barely welcome, and your money and education counted for naught. And yet, thousands of people did just that, year after year, the “huddled masses yearning to be free,” and the not-quite huddled as well. Gold was anything but a huddled mass, she mused as she lay under the sheet, looking at the ceiling.
She knew him intimately, now, his circumcised penis, his energy, his pale skin covered in parts by tufts of black hair. Strange to know so many men carnally when before it had been almost scandalous that she had known two men without the benefit of marriage. And Gold had very, very progressive ideas when it came to labor, women, and even some outlandish ideas about equality amongst the races. He lay on her bed, spent after his second bout, and talked about his dreams of a Utopian society. She’d meant to just agree, stroke his arm a bit, smile, and send him on his way, but instead she found herself challenging him.
“If workers and bosses are equal, how will businesses get started?” she’d asked. “Aren’t some people just smarter than others, just like some are taller, some are blonder, or have musical gifts?” She smiled at him, thinking of his singing, and identifying the singer on the record as well.
“Sure, lovely, some are beautiful, like you, and some are homely, like me, but we need to look past that to true equality under the skin.”
“If there aren’t any capitalists, who will start businesses? If landlords can’t make money, who will rent to people? If smart ones can’t get education, who will be our scientists and inventors?” She sounded to her own ears like Sam, Sam after he joined the board of Nathan-Dohrmann.
Gold stroked her hair. It had come unpinned in their frolic and lay spread like a black veil over her pillow. “I am a capitalist, dolly, and yet I believe in my equality with my workers.”
Violet believed in equality, and she told him so.
“Then why are you arguing with me, beauty?”
“Because equality isn’t the same as, I don’t know, sameness, I guess. And because if I’ve learned anything in the past six months, it’s to question everything.”
“And thusly do you prove your merit,” Gold had said, in his strange, formal way. Violet could not imagine a greater compliment.
When they had returned to the parlor, Kate was still absent. Relieved that she would not be chided for spending too much “after eight” time in conversation, she diligently made another mark next to Gold’s name on the pad to show that he’d gotten two rounds with her. Kate would just have to collect from him some other time, as she did not reappear until it was closing time, and Gold had long gone.
Now, as Violet dressed, she thought about Sharon. She would have to put things right with her. It would not do to have an enemy in such a small household.
She went down to the kitchen and found Moses and Sharon talking quietly at the breakfast table. They stopped when she walked in, exchanged glances, and Moses stood up. He nodded to Violet in response to her “good morning” and left the kitchen, leaving Sharon at the table.
“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” Violet said, immediately broaching the subject. Sharon flicked her eyebrows and then went back to her cornbread and coffee without answering. “What is it, Sharon? You have to tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything, Violet. But I will say that you think you’re mighty superior to us with your education and your writing and your conversations. But you ain’t superior. You’re just luckier in life, and I don’t know why you’re slumming it here with us, but we don’t like it.”
“Really? Who’s we?”
“All of us. Believe me, we know that you didn’t spend years on the street getting beat up, raped, jailed, and used up before you landed here like the rest of us. You’ve been living on easy street, and you’re just pretending to be a whore so you can write about us. But you ain’t a real whore. You’re a wolf in whore’s clothing!”
It was only by supreme self-control that Violet didn’t laugh at the metaphor. It would have cemented Sharon’s view of her, and Violet knew that there was more tha
n a grain of truth in what she said. But there was a lot of falsehood, too.
She sighed. “I know you feel that way, but only part of what you say is true. I also have a history and a past. But you’re right, I have an education, and I do like to write stories. Something I wrote got me in a lot of trouble, and a lot of bad things happened to me, but nothing like you’ve been through. At least not in quantity. But that’s no reason to be mean to me. I’m not taking work from you. I’m not hurting you. And I’m only writing about people to help get higher wages for women, nothing else.”
“Higher wages? Right. From nothing to a pittance, is what we would get. At least here I don’t have to stand in a peach-packing plant all day, getting fuzz in my lungs till I choke to death, for eight dollars a week, with an overseer telling me to work faster. You don’t get it, but Miss Kitty’s is a dream job. Turning tricks in the back of a saloon or in a horse-stall night after night with pimps and drunks and men with knives who’ll cut you or take your money after they’ve used you—that’s being a whore!” Sharon banged her cup on the table and stomped out.
Violet stared at her coffee cup, her appetite gone. Everything Sharon said was true, but Violet was not to blame. She was only the convenient target, the lightning rod for Sharon’s anger and jealousy.
She sat for a long time at the kitchen table, unwilling to go back to her room. I don’t want to hide from Sharon or let her think I’m afraid of her. Eventually, Kate came into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked weary. After a bit, she turned to Violet. “Don’t squabble with Sharon.”
“I’m trying not to. She’s jealous of me.”
“Fine, then be overly nice to her. I don’t have time or the inclination to mediate between two whores cat-fighting. She’s been here longer, she’s a better earner, and if it comes down to her or you, she stays. So make it work.”
Violet looked back at her now cold coffee and said nothing. After another long silence, Kate added, “I see you had Caleb upstairs, and Gold twice, and Bill Ferry as well.”
“Bill Ferry? No, I don’t know who he is.”
“What are you talking about? You wrote it on the pad and noted that you collected from him as well.”
“I did not!”
“Violet, if you’re trying to keep a fee, don’t. You’ll be out on your ass in a minute, and you won’t like it one bit. So turn over the fee and the tips from last night, too.” Kate’s voice was harsh.
Violet stiffened. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. And I don’t even know Bill Ferry. And as to Caleb’s and Gold’s tips, you weren’t in the parlor, so I left them upstairs. I’ll bring them to you after breakfast. Though I don’t know why you keep my tips from Caleb. That wasn’t what you said was the deal at the start.”
“Don’t argue with me, Violet.” Kate’s voice was dangerous. “Get the tips and Ferry’s fee and make it snappy.”
Violet stood up. “I don’t even know how much you charge for me. So I wouldn’t know what to charge this mysterious Bill Ferry anyway. Though I didn’t go with anyone but Caleb and Gold. And if I were going to keep a fee, why would I even write him in on the pad? And I could have gotten away with not telling you about Gold’s going twice if I wanted to pocket a fee, right?”
Kate didn’t answer right away. Finally, she sighed again. “Fine. Go get the tips. I guess I know what happened. Look,” she added, “it was a very long night. I was with Rose most of the night, I’m tired, and I don’t like what’s been going on with you and Sharon. Don’t make it worse.”
Violet reached out and put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. Kate pulled back, startled. “It’s all right, Kitty. I’ll get the tips now, and if you want, I’ll sit with Rose a while so you can get some sleep.”
Kate stared at her. Then, color infusing her face, she put her hand on Violet’s hand. “Thank you. That would be nice. I’ll give you the key to Rose’s door.”
* * * *
Sometimes I wish I ran a millenary shop or a dry goods store instead of brothel. Kate brushed her long dark hair in the mirror. She took a spoonful of headache powder and mixed it with water and drank it down. The medicine would take about ten minutes to work, but the little bit of cocaine in the mix would brighten her eyes right away. She rubbed her temples briefly, eyes closed, and sighed. Time was a-wasting.
With a small, bristled wand she combed the black dye into the graying roots, wincing at the smell. Then, while it dried, she took a pair of tweezers and plucked at the stray hairs that had started appearing on her chin and neck, and trimmed her eyebrows.
She rinsed the dye out, examining the roots for coverage. Satisfied, she took the cream Doc Simmons had made up for her and rubbed it into her neck and cleavage. She smiled into the mirror. There was a time when all she had to do was rouge her lips and walk into the room. Now, even though she no longer turned a trick herself, she spent more time on her appearance than ever before. She took the lip rouge pot and put a smooth coating on her lips, just like old times.
This business between Violet and Sharon was dangerous. Sharon was a fun-loving, high-spirited girl, but she had a coarseness that bore watching. And Violet was insensitive to the effects of her book-learning and writing on the other girls. Lily didn’t care. Lily was sure of herself in most contexts, but Sharon needed more coddling. For all her toughness, she was sensitive to the least perceived slight and had a vindictive streak to boot. At least Violet wasn’t on the same period schedule yet, so she’d been able to keep a lid on the situation. If she’d been edgy too, the whole powder keg would have exploded.
And all, really, because of Rose. At least Violet was sitting with Rose. It was a relief to get out of that dark, oppressive room, and Kate had been grateful for the offer. What really had thrown her, though, was Violet’s touch. It took a moment to realize that it had been years since a woman had touched Kate in friendship, kindness, or basic sisterhood. Life as a madam did not make for easy friendships.
Satisfied with her looks, Kate headed down stairs. It was a Tuesday night, and that meant that guests from Sacramento would be coming for a visit. And sometime later this week, the high rollers coming back from the Bohemian Grove would be stopping in for a night of pleasure. It should be a good week. She would insist that Rose recover by then.
* * * *
Violet sat on a stool by Rose’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall rhythmically. The cut across her neck, just above the scar, glistened with ointment, as did a gash on the side of her head. Neither was terribly deep, it seemed, but the head wound, the result of the fall after Rose had lost consciousness, had bled copiously. The room still stank of blood. The real danger had been from the opium and whatever other drugs Rose had taken before she had dragged the knife over the remnants of her long-ago slashing. Violet moistened a cloth and put it to Rose’s lips.
Rose’s eyes fluttered, and for a moment Violet thought she would open them, but the impulse passed, and Rose seemed to go deeper into sleep. “Just let her sleep it off,” Kate had said. “Keep her lips moist, and if she wakes, keep her calm. That’s the key. Don’t let her get too excited. Samantha will relieve you when the customers start arriving.”
Violet sat in fear—fear that Rose would wake up violently and fear that she would not wake at all. She had offered to watch Rose out of compassion for Kate, as tired as she looked, but Violet took no delight in the role of nurse. It’s a good thing I never had children. I would be lousy at it. Her own mother had not been terribly motherly, and Violet knew that she had little experience with the little niceties of care and nursing. It was enough, in her mother’s view, that she had kept Violet in good clothes and schooling. More than that was not in her power, and Violet had no natural desire to be a mother, either. It was unnatural, she knew. Most of her life so far had been unnatural. What woman volunteered to be a prostitute, to forever reject the possibility of a normal home, husband, and children?
Again Rose stirred, and Viol
et started. Rose’s eyes blinked open. Her pupils were dilated, and, it seemed to Violet, uneven in their size. Rose looked at Violet without recognition, but without fear either. “Water,” she croaked, and Violet quickly dipped the cloth and again put it to Rose’s lips. She shook her head. “Water!” she said, more forcefully.
Violet quickly took a tin cup and dipped it in the bowl. Holding the cup in one hand, she put her arm under Rose’s shoulder and lifted her slightly. She could not have weighed more than ninety pounds dressed, Violet thought. It was like holding a child, the frail bones pushing against the thin night chemise. Rose sipped from the cup, then took several big gulps. Kate hadn’t said anything about drinking water either way, so Kate let her drink. At last, Rose seemed to have her fill. She lay against Violet’s arm, and Violet gently lowered her shoulders back down to the pillow.
“Do you want to sit up?”
Rose grunted, and Violet got another pillow and put it behind Rose’s head. “Head hurts,” she said.
“Yes, you cut it. Of course it hurts.” Rose looked over at Violet and groaned. “Easy does it,” Violet said, at a loss.
“More water,” she said, this time clearly. Violet refilled the cup, and Rose steadied it against her mouth while Violet held it. Again she drank, noisily finishing the cup. Then she gripped the side of the bed, looking wild.
“Shhh, it’s all right,” Violet said.
“Sick,” Rose said, and sweat beaded on her forehead.
Violet looked around and seeing only a small flower vase, emptied the water bowl into the vase. She held the bowl under Rose, and again held Rose’s shoulder as she retched and heaved. Finally, the water she had just drunk came up. Rose leaned back, exhausted and white.
“I guess we stay with water-soaked cloths for a bit,” Violet said. She dried Rose’s forehead and dabbed at the cuts, which had started to bleed through the ointment because of the retching.
“It hurts.”
The Harlot’s Pen Page 13